Page 11 of Dating His Brother

Then the crowd parted enough for her to look around, and she spotted me within seconds. She was quick to look away, but I saw the brief moment of recognition flash across her face. She remembered me, and she was just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

But I wasn’t taking my eyes off of her. No matter how hard she was trying to pretend like she hadn’t seen me, I was watching her like a hawk…just waiting for my chance to catch her alone.

With her being the guest of honor and all, and every guy in the joint clamoring to talk to her, an hour went by before I was able to corner her outside the ladies’ room. She tried to spin on her heels and go in the opposite direction the moment she spotted me.

“Oh no you don’t,” I laughed, chasing after her. “You’re not getting off the hook that easily.”

“I’m not on a hook,” she snipped. “I just don’t want to talk to you, and I don’t intend to.”

“Why are you avoiding me?” I huffed. “You’re the one who failed to mention you were in the middle of this big spectacle when we first met.”

“Actually, I did try to mention it,” she fumed. “But you were the one who lied and said you didn’t know what I was talking about. And yet…here you are.”

“A friend dragged me along. Trust me, I would never be caught dead at something like this unless someone forced me to come.”

She rolled her eyes and avoided looking back at me, still seeming desperate to get away from me. God, she was something in that silver sparkling gown that plunged in front and back. There was a long slit going up her thighs, showing off her gorgeous legs. She looked like a diamond in human form, only in the sexiest way possible. I wanted more than anything to get under that dress and see the rest of her.

“You look fucking incredible, for what it’s worth,” I told her.

“It’s not worth much. Compliments are a dime a dozen this evening.”

“You say that like you’re not eating up every second of it,” I teased.

“I’m really not,” she shot back. “This whole thing is a favor to my brother.” Her eyes drifted up and down my tux. “I have to admit, you clean up surprisingly well. Or maybe you just look different when you’re not selling things on the street corner.”

I laughed, crossing my arms as I leaned against the wall. “I’d hardly call having a coveted booth of paintings in the art district just selling junk on the street.”

She raised a brow. “Well, I would.”

“Shows how much you know about the art world.”

“I apparently know more than you do,” she said, flashing a cocky smile. “Let me guess. You never step foot in a real gallery either. Does someone have to drag you to those exhibitions just like someone dragged you here tonight?”

“What are you implying?”

“That you’re one of those guys who tries to act like you’re too cool and too good for everything. You snub all things bourgeoisie so you don’t have to feel inferior, but deep down it eats at you more than it does the people who just accept it and move on.”

“You mean people who feed into it and play along with it.” I looked over my shoulder, back towards the ballroom. “So, what’s the deal with this ball? Are you claiming to be the woman who has it all…All except love? Is that it? I could help you out with that, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she scoffed sarcastically. “You and every other guy in here tonight.”

“Well, I ask again, sweetheart. If you hate it so much, why are you going along with it?”

“Same reason I went out for a drink with you, I guess,” she shrugged. “I’m a masochist.”

I mocked a motion over my heart like someone was shooting me in the chest, which she took as her chance to storm off back into the ball. But I kept watching her for the rest of the night. She was a vision, and I could see an intense restlessness in her. Her eyes glossed over with boredom.

Isabella was an enigma indeed. She really did hate being in this spotlight, being the belle of the ball. So why was she doing it? And if this wasn’t her kind of thing, what was? Did she even know?

6

Isabella

Iwas fuming as I raced back into the ball, away from Dawson. He had ruined my attempt at a brief escape, and it made me resent him even more. It was funny to think how awful he had to be for me to see the crowd of sparkling, dazzling, empty people with all eyes trained to me as more appealing than a conversation with him.

But I did. Because as far as I could tell, he was a liar. He pretended he didn’t know who I was, but he obviously did. Why else would he be there? I shook my head and clenched my fists, remembering when we met and how clueless and aloof he acted.

All along it was a ploy. He recognized me instantly and thought he’d use the opportunity to get me alone and get some kind of upper hand before he was thrust into the ball with the hoards of other men fighting for my attention. His competition.

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